My wife was a bit unwell (as was I, but I am made of stronger stuff) and she sent me to the supermarket to pick up some Christmas supplies. I hadn't really looked at the list before I went and it was only when I got halfway through the shop that I realised it was going to be a lot to carry home alone. I swapped from a basket to a (small) trolley and filled it with booze and Christmas crackers and non-Christmas crackers (and cheese) and wrapping paper.
I filled six bags at the check out and I couldn't get the rolls of wrapping paper in any of them. I put it all back in the trolley and rolled it up to where the trolleys get left and thought I would sort out how I was going to carry it once I'd got there.
But I was weary and feeling a bit weak and it didn't seem possible for one man to carry so much cumbersome stuff and I made a spur of the moment decision to just take the trolley. I wasn't sure how far I would get and I intended to bring it back, but in this instant it felt like my choice was to borrow the trolley or just leave the stuff behind. And possibly lay down to die.
I wasn't entirely sure how far I would be able to get, as most trolleys have a disabling device that makes them jam up when they're out of range of the supermarket. But I felt I had to try and just hope that Waitrose was too posh to bother with that kind of thing, or that my trolley's device was broken. Even if I got only another 50 metres it would be 50 metres where I wasn't dropping stuff all over the place and juggling with rolls of wrapping paper.
If anyone challenged me I was going to beg and plead with them to let me go, promising to bring the trolley back. I might even cry. Or perhaps I'd punch them. I am very unpredictable at the moment.
It's only a twelve minute walk to my house from the Westfield, but it felt like a long way and I had to get my way through this massive shopping centre which is well stocked with cameras and security guards. I was sure someone would ask me what I thought I was doing. And I felt self-conscious as I was overtly breaking the rules of the supermarket and society. Even whilst I was still in the Westfield I expected the other shoppers to challenge me or at least stare at me for such a blatant theft, but it went unnoticed.
At one point I found myself walking two paces behind a security guard and yet I was too knackered even to attempt to hide. I hid in plain sight and carried on walking and rolling. He nipped into a side door and didn't even look round and see me. I genuinely felt like I was escaping from Colditz and had tricked the goons. And maybe like Tweedledum my escape might revolve around pretending to be mentally ill or actually being so. I can't tell you how wrong this all felt.
The Westfield is on a higher level than the street and I knew I wouldn't get the laden trolley down the escalator or the steps. Luckily there were a couple of lifts but when I got there a woman with a pram was waiting for them and neither of them seemed to be moving. My escape plan might be thwarted. The longer I stayed in the open the more likely the goons were to see me. One of the lifts was clearly broken and the other one, we finally realised operated on a different button. Finally it arrived, just as an old man with a walking stick joined us. They didn't look at me too suspiciously. I suppose they assumed that I must have permission. Or maybe they were just blanking the crime out of their vision. If I was crazy enough to steal a shopping trolley maybe I'd help myself to a walking stick or a baby.
Just as the doors closed I saw the same security guard outside the lift. Had he been sent to get me? If so he just missed me. And he'd have to run round to the stairs if he wanted to apprehend me. He was a little bit chunky and I don't think he'd have wanted to exert himself. A lot of the Colditz escapees got out in the lift I believe.
I rolled the trolley up the road, feeling even more conspicuous and wrong. It reminded me a bit of having a Hitler Moustache. I was openly flouting convention and subverting society's rules. But everyone else ignored me. I suppose I might have looked like a tramp carting around my meagre possessions. Even tramps like to celebrate with a Christmas Cracker.
I pulled off the escape from Colditz (the Westfield) and made it safely over the border into Switzerland (my house). I had done something that was wrong, but it felt so right and it had saved me a lot of hassle. I would do the same again and I would have said that to the judge too! The trolley sat in my hallway, but when there was a ring at the door I hid it in the living room. I thought it was probably a parcel being delivered, but it might have been the long arm of the law and I wouldn't let them in without a warrant.
It felt less odd taking the empty trolley back to the Westfield. If challenged I could always claim that I was a good samaritan who had discovered the trolley in my street and was returning it to its home (not entirely a lie). But no one cared and no one said anything. I got the trolley safely back to its brothers and went on my way.
It was one of the most thrilling things that's happened to me in a long time.
